


The Damnation of Recognition

by jennygotfamous



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Power Play, Prostitution, Sex Work, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18836557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennygotfamous/pseuds/jennygotfamous
Summary: Six years ago Xander left Sunnydale. He wasn't the same even before he left but Spike never thought to question what happened. Spike runs into him doing a favour for a friend of a friend and there's so much he doesn't know beyond the time between. This Xander is different. Sharper. Or maybe just brittle.I dunno - I'm bad at writing summaries, someone help me.Contains: explicit mentions of sex work, BDSM, power exchange, super bad kink etiquette, a whoooole buncha angst and a super fucked up Xander who did bad thngs.





	The Damnation of Recognition

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a Charles Bukowski poem. Full poem at the end of the chapter. Might give things away. Or maybe not. Sometimes I'm subtle-ish. Starts at X/Other but doesn't stay that way.
> 
> This chapter with love to [Chocolatey Goodness by Mad Poetess](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812)

Xander pulled on the jeans he’d discarded a few hours earlier and grinned at the happy sounding groan that came from the bed behind him.

“Y’know, these nights are some of my favourite parts of the month.” Said a softly accented voice amidst the sound of expensive sheets sliding on soft skin.

“And I suppose it has nothing to do with the fat paycheck?” He flung back with an amused smile.

“Doesn’t hurt.” Green eyes twinkled a wink at him and he laughed.

“There’s a tip for you on the dresser.” His eyes dragged slowly up from a pale ankle and along exposed flank that got longer as sheets shifted.

“Could always bring me back tomorrow and make me earn it,” A wicked grin and Xander was about to say that sounded like a pretty fantastic idea when a pounding on the door made them both start.

“Shit! What time is it?” Languid movements turned efficient as they jerked on pants forgotten even earlier than his own.

“Hmm… sometime after 3.” He squinted at the sudden illumination of his phone when he tapped a button.

“Damn it! Was supposed to check in half an hour ago.” The flustered man went to rush past and Xander caught his arm gently.

“Byron, it’s fine. My fault. I only booked ‘til 2 and forgot to call in to let them know I wanted to keep you another few hours. Easily explained, ok?”

The pounding on the door hadn’t let up and Xander was grateful for the reinforced steel or it would have been in pieces by now. Another heavier _thud_. He forgot the door and started worrying about the hinges.

Giving the pale brunet a gentle tap on the ass he chuckled when slim shoulders relaxed a little as he padded towards the door. Rolling shoulders that had started to tense - this was not the time to start a fight - he flipped the deadbolt and threw the door wide.

The breath he’d taken to explain the mix up exploded in a _ummph_ as a black boot caught him squarely in the stomach and sent him flying. Another, smaller wheeze squeezed out as the roll he’d fallen into came to an abrupt stop when his back slammed against the couch.

“Alex!”

“Bloody hell!”

Shaking off the worst of the abrupt tightness in his chest he was on his feet and moving towards the angry stomp currently thumping towards the bedroom doorway where Byron stood frozen. Leaping over the ottoman that was behind the couch after his unintentional furniture rearrangement, he slid to a stop between those pissed off boots and the man in the bedroom.

Whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips and his not quite recovered lungs felt like they’d gone another round with the couch.

“Holy shit! Spike?!”

“ _Alex._ ” The unfamiliar-in-that-voice name drawled out from between bemused lips and Xander felt himself start the tumble back six years and a whole lot of life lessons.

Keeping himself in the here and now with a shake, he spoke quickly but firmly, “Wasn’t Byron’s fault. I’d told him I wanted to extend but didn’t confirm it with the office before we got… distracted. I didn’t realise he needed to check in but I should have thought to ask,”

And that was as close as this ex-Scooby was going to get to babbling, thank you _very_ much. Clamping his jaw the taller man took a good look at the vampire in front of him.

Hair was the same blinding colour, tousled instead of slicked back though. Duster traded for a short leather jacket. Jeans and t-shirt were the same... or maybe somehow _tighter_? Boots were a little different. Not by much, but definitely steel caps instead of the old Doc Martins. _All the better to kick you across the room with, my dear_.

“Hey! Vampire!” And _there_ was the thing that had started niggling at him. He crossed his arms and glared at the man in front of him who somehow made him feel like the short one.

“Know I didn’t kick you _that_ hard, Harris.” Black tipped fingers rummaged around in the coat before a cigarette was between pursed lips and the flame of a zippo was being touched to the tip.

“S’in the contract you signed before you started playing hide the bishop with the kid here,” The blond said on an exhale of grey smoke with a nod to the man behind him and _yeah ok, he should have remembered that_ , “Anywhere you invite ‘im you invite his backup.”

Xander wasn’t sure how to respond to that without sounding like an idiot. He settled on a non-committal sound of acknowledgement while he rummaged through a coffee table drawer for the lone ashtray he knew he’d seen some point in the last year. Finally finding it under a stack of letters he thrust it at the peroxide menace before sliding open a balcony door.

“Alex?”

His eyes moved from the blond who’d already moved on from the surprise of being handed an ashtray rather than a snarky comment about second-hand smoke to tapping on his phone to the man in the doorway.

“All good, Byron. Spike and I are… we know each other.”

 

_*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

 

_His fingers shook as he tried to figure out the key-in-lock scenario that had made sense yesterday. His eyes didn’t seem to be tracking quite right but they caught just fine on the thin line of red under his thumbnail. Sudden, sharp sound of metal hitting wood and he jumped then froze. Waited for another sound. Finally blinked when nothing else seemed to happen. Quick blackness and back again. Did it again as his eyes finally slid down to focus on his keys, now resting innocuously on the floor. Not in his hand. He thought they’d been in his hand a minute ago. Maybe that’s what he was missing for the key-in-lock puzzle to work itself out._

_“Harris?”_

_He watched his out of focus hand tremble as he stared at the keys on the floor._

_“You in there, whelp?” The familiar voice buzzed somewhere to his right._

_“Dropped my keys.” He said tonelessly. The earthquake making his vision shake might mean another apocalypse. He should tell someone._

_“Christ!” The epithet was hummingbird quiet and right beside him._

_“Dropped my keys.” He wasn’t sure if the thought had made it out of his mouth the first time. He was pretty sure he’d thought it before though. Maybe. Kind of sure._

 

_*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

 

“Knew.” He corrected himself with another shake, “Knew each other. Another life.”

He ignored the snort from the vampire and took another look at his companion, still standing in the doorway. His hair was still mussed, pants only half buttoned and not-very-subtle raised marks over his chest told anyone who looked exactly what they’d been up to. Finally dragged his eyes up high enough to see green twinkling back at him and he rolled his own with a chuckle before the sight disappeared into the bedroom to get dressed.

“So how long have you been playing… what? Bouncer?” He asked the still smoking blond currently leaning against his couch as he moved to grab his wallet out of the bowl by the door.

“‘M not. Friend of a friend pulled a favour.” Well, that was as much of a non-answer as an answer could be.

He made another non-specific sound of curiosity as he padded back to the bedroom, adding another bill to the stack on the dresser before leaning one hip against the door jam.

“Don’t suppose that favour has anything to do with the check-ins?” He asked, more directly curious now. Extending Byron’s time wasn’t all that unusual and they had his card on file. Normally they’d just charge the extra time and offer him a longer visit upfront next time he called.

“Could do.”

Warm fingers dragged a line from the small of his back, along his hipbone to rest delicately just above the button on his jeans. Xander momentarily forgot his curiosity as his well-sated body gave a slight twitch. Chuckling at the unrepentant look on the face suddenly very close to his own he twisted to snatch the bills and slide them into the front pocket pants with slow, deliberate movements.

Unrepentant turned into downright mischievous, “Thanks, daddy.”

The muffled but not quite stifled enough sound of surprise was enough for Xander to leave the statement hanging. They’d played that game once or twice, abandoned when it didn’t really do a whole lot for him and there were so many other games that really _really_ did.

“You _do_ know the kid here is a Sucai, yeah?” Spike asked with a superior arch of his eyebrow. The smirk clearly said he thought he’d got one over on an ex-Scooby.

_Ha! You really think that’s a surprise to me, Fangless? Six years is a long time for some of us._

“Half, actually. The _kid_ is also older than both of us put together.” He said with a raise of his own eyebrow, completely ruining the effect with a laugh when the smirk dropped open in shock.

“What the bloody hell happened to the donut boy?”

He could feel the humour drain out of his face and turned back to Byron, “You should head off.”

The other man nodded before pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth and sauntering out the still open door with a lazy swing of his hips. Xander hoped not so quietly that Spike would follow his charge. The itching between his shoulders said he was out of luck and he turned to find the blond examining him through the smoke of another cigarette.

“Shouldn’t you be following Byron? Making sure he gets home safe.” He asked, figuring if luck was lying down on the job a good kick might get it started again.

“‘n a minute. Gonna answer my question?” The vampire was still watching him with a look that he couldn’t read and Xander considered both the look and the question for a moment.

“If you answer one of mine.” He crossed his arms over his chest again, suddenly very aware he was half dressed and reeked of sex.

“Alright then. S’only fair, innit. Mine first, mind.”

“Yours is easy. Sunnydale. Donut boy saved the world and -” _Scrubbing until he felt like he’d taken off skin and massive heaving breaths so he didn’t start hyperventilating and he couldn’t give in to the panic until he got rid of-_ Fuck _. Wasn’t still supposed to be this hard. Thought I’d_ dealt _with this shit, damn it._ “Sunnydale happened.”

A snort brought him back to the blond now grinding his cigarette out and away from _so much fucking blood he never knew a body could hold so much fucking blo-_ “Typical. Welcher. Barely answer the question but I ‘spose you expect _your_ answer now, don’t you? Go on then. Fair’s fair.”

Maybe snorts were catching because Xander caught himself doing it too, “You have never played _fair,_ Spike. I may not have seen you in six years but that doesn’t mean I don’t know you.”

Clearly, they’d both changed because his Spike just inclined his head in a low nod, “Still giving you your answer, aren't it? If you ever get ‘round to askin’.”

_Don’t get involved. You are not a Scooby anymore. Don’t get -_

“Why the check-ins?” _Damn it!_

**Author's Note:**

> The Damnation of Recognition
> 
>  
> 
> the damnation of recognition:  
> this is where even  
> genius sometimes  
> fails  
> and talent always  
> whores out;
> 
> oh, boys, be careful:  
> it was not easy  
> getting there.  
> and there's no getting back;  
> remember what you've  
> carved in cold places,  
> and know  
> that the gods were good,  
> and that it is not  
> the living crowd  
> of now  
> that decides anything:  
> themselves,  
> or least of all,  
> you.
> 
> C. Bukowski


End file.
